


Standing Down

by Teej



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teej/pseuds/Teej
Summary: The Promised Day battle ends and two weary veterans realize nothing is the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Text
> 
> FMA - Come for the adventure, drown in the Royai...
> 
> Okay, I normally don't like adding a lengthy A/N to my stories but I think one is needed here. I am new to this fandom and this first chapter was supposed to just be a one shot, testing the waters to see if I can coax my Wenches (aka musae) into letting me write again. My brain latched on to exploring what could have happened with Mustang and Hawkeye right after Edward brought Alfonse back in his own body. Thus this first story came about. Then my wenches had other ideas. They refused to let me continue working on a potential 'beginnings' story. So, using a '100 word chart' to coax my rebellious wenches along I suddenly had a 1500 word follow-though for this story. Right after that came a third one... I have a problem, my damn musae are fascinated with what was going on between a blinded Mustang and his seriously impaired Lieutenant and what their future would hold. I decided to just let this rip!
> 
> With that said, all the beta work is being done by me, and I am trying to catch as much as I can. Mistakes will be there though, it happens.
> 
> Standing Down is being translated into Chinese!  
> Chinese: “Standing Down”即将被翻译成日文了！  
> English: ‘Standing Down’ will be translated into Chinese soon!  
> With many thanks to 'sleepyfishy' for her translating efforts, that "soon" is now here!  
> [ 'Standing Down' in Chinese](http://sleepyfishy.lofter.com/post/1d85db3a_1271b35a)

****

## 

1.

****

"You're sure he's all right?" Mustang asked, frowning, his eyes scrunching shut again. How the hell could he be light sensitive and still blind as a bat? His nostrils flared and he waved away the acrid smoke and dust still settling from the massive confrontation. His throat caught and he coughed, winced, and tried to locate where his Lieutenant had gone. He sensed her presence returning to his side, unconsciously reaching up and out, his hand landing on her shoulder. 

“He's sitting up -my god, Colonel- Alphonse in his own body!” 

“We should get down there,” he muttered, sliding his hand across her shoulder, anchoring himself. He flinched, his wounded hands reminding him that not all was well.

“We can't, Colonel,” Hawkeye stated. “They're at the bottom of a massive crater, the Briggs forces are everywhere and the casualties...” she hesitated, her gaze sweeping over what was left of Central Command. So many casualties. Shaking her head, she took his wrist in one hand. “It's a battlefield out here. There's too many obstacles,” she stated simply and looked around them. Her arm reached up his back, settling her hand on his shoulder. He tightened his grip reflexively on hers. She turned and slowly lead the way towards an enormous chunk of rubble, low, and flat enough for them to sit on.

“Damned little punk finally did it,” she heard him mutter, trying to clear his throat again. Hawkeye detected the wry humour and undertone of pride in his voice. 

“He did at that,” she said. 

Roy felt his leg brush the stone, and he turned, his other hand reaching down, testing for the depth before he sat, an audible gasp escaping his lips. “But at what cost?” he grunted, gritting his teeth at the stabbing pain in his hand. 

“Cost?” Riza asked, then her brain clicked into gear as she crouched down next to his knee. “He said it was his last transmutation.”

“He gave it all up,” Roy murmured a note of awe in his voice, then flinched like a shy colt when Riza took one of his hands in hers.

“Let me check your hands,” she murmured her voice filled with despair and concern. “We need to get these off.” She started pulling at the fingers of his gloves.

“Yeah,” he winced, and slid two fingers across his palm, tugging the cloth up, tearing the newly clotted blood way from the puncture wound in his hand. “I think this one might be broken,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Riza pulled the glove off then curled his fingers around the cloth. “Grip that,” she said, “the wound is bleeding again.” He nodded saying nothing. Her sure competent hands began to remove his other glove. As she worked his fingers out of it, he gingerly reached up with his other hand, his finger pressing just under his sightless right eye. He felt her move and knew her sharp gaze was searching his face. 

“Sir?” she asked, squeezing his fingers gently over the other glove. His eyes were still scrunched shut and his face reflected pain as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your eyes?”

“They ache,” he admitted. He felt her tense.

“Where are the medics?” Riza looked around. 

He smirked, caught another catch in his throat from the dust and fumes. Far away shouts and barely controlled chaos radiated off the demolished grounds surrounding them. “Doing their jobs. We're not priority. From the sounds of it I bet there's a lot of triage going on right now. We can wait. If they need us, they'll find us.”

“Of course,” she replied, and coughed, waving her hand. She made the mistake of closing her eyes. As the world suddenly spun, her hand shot out, grabbing his shoulder, steadying herself. Before she knew it, the Colonel was gripping her forearm, pulling her down.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Before you fall over.” He'd dropped his gloves, his hands reaching for her as she sat with an inelegant thump next to him. He felt the tacky blood that had soaked into her shirt and jacket and his mind flashed back to that moment in the underground world where she had been bleeding out in a human transmutation circle. Frozen a split second, he scowled, angry at himself. He felt her shivering. 

“I'm an idiot,” he admonished himself. Pulling his hand away he began struggling out of his overcoat.

“Colonel, I'll be all...” she began trying to sit up straight, fighting against another spell of dizziness. A wave of nausea hit her. 

“Like hell you are,” he growled and draped the coat over her shoulders, wrapping her in it. “You're my eyes at the moment, Lieutenant. The last thing I need is for you to pass out.”

“And here I thought you were just being gallant,” she retorted as he pulled her to him.

“My god,” he breathed, his eyes opened, the horror of the events that had been occurring playing out in his sightless gaze. “You nearly died down there.”

“You ordered me not too,” she replied and he heard the tremor in her voice.

“I am so selfish!” he berated himself, “Here you are tending to me...”

“It's my job to,” she said wearily, cutting him off. 

He scowled, then he felt her forehead press into his shoulder, and her breathing felt a little off. He tightened his grip on her shoulders, his face brushing against her hair. His mind was racing ahead of him again. Blood loss. Adrenaline surge then let down. Battle fatigue. His Lieutenant was beyond exhausted. That and the fact that she was more concerned about him than herself. 

Again.

Before he realized what was happening, his hand reached her face, and he was tucking her protectively in the crook of his neck. She started, the intimacy causing her to tense. He laid his cheek against her head, holding her close. He shut his eyes again at the ache that throbbed behind them.

“Stand down, Lieutenant,” he murmured in her ear. “Just try and rest, just a little, please.”

“Colonel, we shouldn't...” her voice sounded so tired it caused his heart to lurch. 

“After all that's happened? Forget about that,” he growled. His grip tightened around her and he gently kissed the top of her head. “Everything has changed.” Feeling her shiver, he wrapped in his overcoat around her even more. She felt cold. She didn't resist.

So much had occurred so fast. From his rage filled battle with Envy, being lectured by Edward Elric and Scar; his own enemy! She herself coming within moments of shooting him. That insane doctor trying to force him to do the abominable using her. Bradley stabbing his hands into the stone of the floor before Pride further pinned him down to force open the gate. 

That Gate.

Mustang shuddered. 

“Everything has changed,” he murmured again, feeling her shoulders relax a fraction. He had his visions of her dying in that chamber and he knew that she had her own of his being forced to perform that horrific act. He could still hear the frantic note of her cries echoing in his head before being sucked into the portal.

“Your eyes,” she barely whispered and he heard the deep sorrow in her voice. 

“Price had to be paid,” he replied. “All I seem to be able to think about is that I almost lost you... not once but twice.” At that moment, Mustang realized just how exhausted he was feeling. He heaved a sigh, clutching her to him, recalling how he had been cradling her to his chest and wondering if she was dead or alive. His eyes ached and his hands continued with their dull throbbing. Riza shivered next to him. “I will not lose you again,” he murmured with a note of finality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow through of Standing Down

If there was one thing everyone knew about Colonel Roy Mustang, it was _**not**_ to stand in his way.

Riza shivered and her eyes flickered open, startled when the medics who had finally located them, shifted her onto a blanket. How had she ended up on the ground? Dimly, she heard Mustang barking orders. When she struggled to sit up she felt a grip on her shoulder tighten. Nausea struck and swirled her thoughts into a jumble before she could fully comprehend that the Colonel was holding her down.

"Easy, Lieutenant."

“What..?” she whispered, trying to focus.

“You fainted,” he replied, wryness his voice.

“Stay awake for us, Lieutenant,” a stranger's voice encouraged. Someone tugged at her bloody jacket. She swallowed and focused on Mustang. He knelt alongside, fumbling with his free hand, tucking his overcoat around her legs.

Turning his head her way he had his devil-may-care smirk on his face.“I knew I'd get you to swoon on me one day...” he wisecracked. “I didn't expect to get such spectacular results.” He was nearly gloating.

His sightless gaze struck her -again- like a physical blow. Those glassy eyes widened at the sound of her sharp inhalation and worry chased the humour from him.

“Sir, we should take a look at your hands,” a second medic spoke up.

“Never mind me,” Mustang snapped. “ _Sh_ e gets your one hundred percent attention.”

“Sir!” the two medics instantly responded.

Riza despised the weakness seeping in to weigh her limbs down. “Let them do their job,” she tried to admonish him. She tensed as she felt one of the medics start cutting her jacket off. “You need...”

The Colonel's grip on her shoulder vanished before feeling him clutch her hand. His focus returned to her. “I'm doing my job,” he replied. “Looking after you. I had to catch you, you know. That's no small feat considering I can't see a damned thing at the moment.”

“I'm never living this down, am I?”

“Not on your life,” His smirk returned. “Lieutenant Hawkeye fainting into my arms. What's not to love?”

Riza shivered hard as she felt the fabric of her sweater peel away from her neck, exposing the skin underneath. “How'd it get so cold?” Her brows knit in a frown.

“These wounds are nearly healed!” One of the medics exclaimed.

“That doesn't mean she's not reacting from blood loss,” Mustang barked. “Someone get more blankets over here!”

“Colonel,” she reproved. “You're going to terrify them all throwing you're weight around.”

“You haven't seen anything yet,” he shot back, not even missing a beat. “Just you wait and see what happens when we get to that hospital. That's when I'll really start pulling rank.”

Riza sighed, shaking her head, instantly regretting her motions. Her hand reached up, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How can I be so dizzy, lying flat on my back?”

He began to chuckle, “Oh, Lieutenant...” His voice was filled with mirth, “You're making this entirely too easy for me.”

Riza raised an admonishing finger, forgetting he couldn't see it. “Don't even go there, sir!”

“Are you ordering me around?” He asked. “If anyone's issuing orders, it's going to be me. And yours is to relax and la...”

“If you finish that statement I will shoot you.”

Mustang chuckled. “I will shoot you, _sir_.” he corrected. He couldn't see her eyes roll with exasperation.

“They can't do their job if you're scaring the crap out of them, _sir_.” She sighed again, unable to keep the world around her from spinning. Exhaustion crept into her bones. “Have you heard yourself?” she asked. “You sound like you're ordering around a battalion.”

Her eyes flew open when one of the medics wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

“Congratulations Lieutenant, you are the palest I have seen any one with blood loss. You damn well look like you nearly bled to death,” he said.

“That's because she nearly did,” Mustang replied. He didn't see the medic's reaction.

“It's getting hard to focus,” Riza admitted, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Feeling light-headed are we?” the medic asked.

“I'm sorely tempted to tell you why...” Mustang joked. He glanced towards the medic. “Skin is clammy too, and cold.”

As the medic pumped the cuff he asked. “Can you give me a rundown here, sir? Just what happened?”

“Isn't it a little obvious, soldier?” Mustang asked, sarcasm lacing his voice. “If she hadn't of stuck her hand into the wound she'd have bled out.”

“Yup, blood pressure is pretty low.” Both heard the medic turn, rummaging in his kit. There came the sound of tearing paper, and the medic quickly spat something away.

“Ma'am, I'm going to be putting in an IV line in the back of your hand. You'll feel a pinch.”

Something sloshed, she felt dampness on her hand, followed by a quick jab. The smell of alcohol permeated the air and she fought down the urge to gag. Mustang's other hand found her shoulder preparing to flip her onto her side if necessary.

Riza struggled against the turmoil, panting, when had her breathing become so rapid?

“Lieutenant, are you having trouble catching your breath?”

“I'd say there's a reason for that as well,” Mustang joked, earning himself a scowl he couldn't see.

“Corporal, get oxygen and saline over here, stat.” The medic ordered.

“Sir!” The other medic scampered off.

“Keep her awake, Colonel,” The medic in charge said, snatching up the saline solution the corporal delivered. Within seconds he had it attached and drawing properly, then held the bottle up.

“Sir, would you mind holding this?” When nothing happened at first, the medic glanced at Mustang.

He was met with a glassy-eyed, pain filled glare, a snarl flickering at the corner of Roy's mouth.

The medic stared in shock.

The pupils in Mustang's eyes were gone.

It hadn't even occurred to him that his superior was completely blind.

“A little assist here..?” Mustang's low voice growled.

Unknowingly the Colonel held up his bloody, injured, hand, his thumb rubbing at the tips of his index and ring fingers like he was about to snap. He sensed movement and Riza's IV'd hand clamped like a vice onto his.

“Colonel,” she gasped. “You're forgetting!”

“Forgetting?” He frowned.

“You don't...” she fought to draw breath, “need the... circles any more. What if..?”

“The gloves are gone!” He snapped, “I can't make the spark.”

“You don't... know that... yet!” Riza gasped, shuddering. “Your alchemy... isn't blocked... Who knows... what you can do!” Riza sagged back, gasping for breath, utterly spent trying to avert a potential disaster.

“You're the Flame Alchemist,” The senior medic whispered in shock, feeling like he had suddenly been dropped in to a waking nightmare.

Quite literally the younger medic, who was attaching tube and mask to the oxygen bottle, squeaked in alarm. Both medics glanced at the bottle then back at a suddenly perplexed Colonel Mustang. His mind was racing forward, tension radiating off him in waves.

Everyone knew just how lethal and powerful his particular alchemy was. Even blind, the man was terrifying. Maybe even more so. They all remained motionless.

“Holy sh....” the medic exhaled.

Roy snapped back to the present. “Bottle!” He ordered as Riza lessened her grip. He held his palm up, ignoring the stabs of pain. The medic shook off his shock, reaching out to position Mustang's hand on the handle to hold the saline bottle up.

“Get with the program, soldier,” his voice rumbled. Feeling Riza squeeze his hand he focused back on her.

“Calm down,” she barely whispered. “Please, sir.” Still struggling to breath, she manage to add. “He's a... Captain.”

“No more talk, Lieutenant,” The Captain said, deftly and carefully slipping the oxygen mask over her face. “You need to keep your eyes open. I know you want to sleep, but you can't yet.”

She nodded, shoulders slumping in relief, watching as the Colonel reasserted himself.

“Give me a run down here, Captain?” he asked.

“With this much blood loss. We're looking at hypovalemic shock. The fluids and the oxygen will help stabilize her but we need her in the hospital fast.”

If there was one thing Riza Hawkeye could not stand, it was the sense of being helpless. Laying there, she knew the days events unfolding around them were catching up with her. Not unlike standing before a runaway freight train, one she could no longer avoid. She wanted to close her eyes and drown in the blackness. Struggling against the overwhelming weariness she focused on Mustang.

He loomed over her, his black hair in its normal state of disarray.

She was sure that one way or an other he would continue making never-ending suggestive wisecracks to keep her alert.

Never relaxing his grasp on her hand, he silently sent messages of reassurance and protectiveness all underlined by a hint of desperation. His eyes were clenched shut, pain etching his features. He listened intently to the chaos surrounding them.

A small noise escaped from her as another wave of nausea struck.

Mustang instantly focused back on her.

Even newly blind he was compensating for the loss with alacrity. Already he was able to 'look' right at her. He leaned towards her, pitching his voice for her ears only. “Don't you dare faint on me again, Lieutenant, we'll be starting rumours.”

She sorely wanted to choke him, and tell him he could start a mountain of rumours all by himself just by standing there. She was fairly certain they'd already started.

His smirk flashed across his face when she huffed at him in annoyance. She knew only too well he manipulated those rumours to his full advantage at many a person's expense.

The creeping blackness threatened to envelope her and she fumbled with her other hand, gripping at his fingers. She saw the worry in his eyes.

“Stay with me...” he murmured, “Focus on this,” he raised their hands and tightened his grip, “I'm not letting you go.”


	3. Standing Down III

**3.**

 

Too restless to remain in his hospital bed, Mustang flicked away the blanket and swung his legs over the side. When his feet made contact with the floor his eyes widened a little in surprise. The cool tile actually felt good. He sat balanced there a moment, just letting his head hang, and pondered how strange things felt. Since passing through that Gate everything in his world had become so... tactile.

He flexed his fingers, self consciously aware of the bandages on his hands. He distinctly did not like the pull of the over 40 stitches it took to close his sabre wounds. His eyes, open but seeing nothing, no longer had that fierce throbbing pain that had made it so hard to keep them open. Whatever painkiller the doctor had given him was strong enough to tackle that and left only the faintest of buzz behind.

What it did not do was let him sleep. The horror show of recent events that replayed when he tried to go to sleep simply drove that idea right out of his head. He'd be damned if he was going to let them drug him out. With all of Central in total chaos he knew he still had vital responsibilities too see to. That and the most invaluable person in his life was sleeping in the bed next to his.

He smirked.

As promised he had pulled every string, made every threat, and used every ounce of rank his position allowed to see to it she remained in the room with him. He'd even seen to it that the medical staff had the required high security clearances to allow them to see his Lieutenant's back.

Mustang snorted softly in amusement. Years ago it had taken some serious manipulations on his part to get his subordinate declared a State Military secret. It helped that he could use her formidable skills as a veteran sharpshooter to add further to the mystery surrounding her designation. It also helped that less than five people in Amestris knew of that secret.

A germ of an idea flickered into existence in his thoughts. After this days events he was determined to revisit that classification once Grumman -her grandfather- was fully ensconced in power.

He sighed, rising, and thought hard about where Breda had been sitting earlier. His extremely resourceful unit had located them in all the chaos and swiftly arranged security matters. Though initially horrified that their commander was blind, Mustang refused their sympathy. If he could carry on with this setback, they certainly could as well. He'd even confirmed to Breda and Feury that he had been in the thick of the fight with Father using his newly freed alchemy. At their astonishment he even joked he had a perfectly good set of eyes.

Chair, Mustang thought, find the chair. He took a step forward, knowing the wall was to his left. Another step, then he leaned and reached down. His fingers contacted the armrest and he smirked with triumph. With another step forward, he reached with his other hand and found the edge of Hawkeye's bed. Distance gauged, Mustang cautiously and quietly shifted the chair closer to her.

Settling back down, he slouched until he could lay his head on the back rest then, like most typical males, sat with his knees bent and legs splayed, draping his right forearm on the chair's rest. If one could feel comfortable in the hospital issued pyjamas, he had managed to attain it. He smiled ruefully, idly fingering the fabric on his right knee. If there was any way possible that he could find, he would retain his dignity.

Even asleep, Riza's presence next to him was palpable and Mustang shifted in the chair. Tentatively reaching up he located her shoulder, fingertips ghosting down her arm until he could curl her hand into his. She didn't respond, she was profoundly asleep and he was relieved. Her hand was warm, soft and she was very much alive. That was all that mattered.

He finally relaxed, staring sightless at the far wall of the room and listening intently to every sound he could pick out. (The information being neatly catalogued away in his mind.) He felt the tension ebb from his shoulders and his features evened out, the lines of pain and worry vanishing. Though exhaustion left smudges of blue under his eyes, Mustang stayed awake, the restlessness had stilled and he simply sat there, meditating.

It wasn't very long afterwards though when his head tilted left and he allowed himself to doze.

* * *

 

She awoke slowly, lethargically, struggling with the the simple act of opening her eyes. At first she couldn't quite string her thoughts together so she lay still trying to focus. It felt as if every muscle and every bone in her body ached. Frowning, she started to let the painkiller induced numbness sweep her away again when her memories betrayed her.

Her eyes snapped back open.

She drew in a breath, forcing herself to exhale slowly and scanned the darkened room around her. She barely remembered being brought into the hospital by the medics carrying her stretcher. All she could accurately recall was being absolutely useless while Roy Mustang ferociously issued orders left, right, and centre. He hadn't left her side from the moment the shock of blood loss finally caught up with her. It was going to take -at least- a General to restore any kind of order after all the toes the Colonel had stomped on that day.

She realized then that her hand was being held and she focused on the man next to her. A ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. Mustang was utterly relaxed, sprawled in a chair parallel to the bed, and breathing slow and evenly. He had one knee bent, the other leg stretched out and his right arm hung over the armrest. She was relieved to see that his hands had been cared for. Neatly wrapped in clean white gauze.

Seeing his bandages reminded her of her own. She tried to suppress the feeling of being choked by the dressing around her neck. Though the little girl from Xing had been able to stop her bleeding, she hadn't been able to fully close all the wounds, considering the hurried and horrific circumstances at that time. Riza closed her eyes, trying to force away the memories. Her fingers tightened against his hand. She was glad she hadn't been awake for the repair work that needed to be done.

Gazing at him, she smiled softly at that impossible to tame black hair and the lashes that made most girls jealous. Why was it guys got the beautiful long lashes and girls who bothered had to work at it? Riza was glad not to be one of the girls who bothered. His features were composed, free of the pain that came from whatever had been done to his eyes. She knew he detested medication that impaired his senses. Judging from the circles under his eyes, he was well and truly exhausted.

She gently gripped his fingers mindful of the wounds he'd received. Would she ever get that imagine of Bradley impaling Roy to the floor out of her thoughts and dreams? The days' event were struggling past her defences. She shuddered waking him up. He inhaled, lifting his head and turning towards her, his eyes flickering open.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Nonsense,” he murmured back, reaching up and scrubbing at his face, while squeezing her hand. He swallowed, blinking his eyes open wider, trying to shrug off the drowsiness.

“You have a perfectly good bed over there to sleep in, you know” she said.

“There's a perfectly good one right next to me too,” he replied.

Riza drew breath, unable to suppress the smile she felt tugging at the corners of her lips and she just shook her head.

“I can literally feel you blushing,” he added, his voice dropping even lower.

“You, sir, are incorrigible.”

“Good to know.” He twisted slightly in the chair, facing her better. His tone changed, more hushed and subdued. “I'm fine, Lieutenant, you don't need to worry about me.”

“I always do though.”

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, smiling lopsidedly then settled his head back against the chair, still focused towards her. He relaxed again. “It's all right, I'm...” he paused, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Comfortable.” He rolled his head towards her, almost perfectly looking into her face. “How about you?”

“I feel like a wrung out dish rag,” she admitted. “That aches.”

He smirked. “And you want me to sleep?”

“You could use it after today.”

“Can't,” he shrugged a shoulder. “Too many things roiling around in here.” He tapped a finger to his temple.

Riza nodded, squeezing understanding through her hand in his. “Same here.” She looked around the room, “Any idea what time it is?”

“You're talking to the blind guy here,” he said wryly.

Riza sighed, shaking her head. “You're taking all this so well I keep forgetting.”

“What's there to do about it?” He asked matter-of-factly. “Though I find it highly ironic that the man with the vision for his country loses his vision.” He snorted softly. “Whoever's out there, has a warped sense of humour.”

That sent a pang of grief through her as she studied his damaged eyes. It seemed like his pupils were either completely missing or so far expanded out the iris' had vanished. She felt a start of tears in her own eyes and drew in a breath to stop them.

It was remarkable how fast he noted the changes in reaction with her. “It's all right,” he whispered. “We'll be all right.”

“We have to be,” she said shaking her head and scowling at the jumble of emotions she was struggling to contain. Where had all these come from?

He shushed her, subconsciously running his thumb across the backs of her fingers. She chastised herself for being foolish and sought some way to change the subject. “Seems quiet on this floor,” she said.

“Mmm hm,” he murmured. “As promised, I've terrorized the entire staff here. Though I can tell that things are still going at a fever pitch elsewhere. At least this floor is settled down for the night.”

Riza shook her head at his irreverence. “The casualties...” she breathed unable the get horror out of her voice. The stand against Father, the coup on Central Command, so many people had died. Silence fell between them, both lost in their thoughts. Neither wanted to revisit the horror.

Riza studied him for a moment, watching him think. An unnatural stillness would envelope him when he got that way. People often mistook it for hesitation on his part, especially in the midst of a battle. That was until he unleashed all fiery hell. They always underestimated him. The calculations he could complete in his head in the act of using his alchemy was too staggering for most anyone to comprehend. He could be flat out exhausted but his thoughts would still be going at top speed. Even now he looked worn out, but he was also in a rare conversational mood. A side of him very few people ever got to see.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him quietly, shifting more onto her side, the hand with the IV still in it brushed against his arm. His eyebrow crooked and a faint smirk appeared on his lips.

“I am thinking about the elephant in the room,” he murmured, running his thumb across the back of her fingers, again.

All the old arguments surfaced between them but then his words to her after the battle reasserted themselves in her thoughts.

“Everything has changed,” she said. “Hasn't it?”

“Mm hmm,” he hummed, running his hand up his chest before relaxing again. “By the time the dust settles, everyone will know.” He snorted, “Hell, Bradley knew already.”

Riza smirked, recalling how the homunculus had called her Roy's 'woman'. That and their mutual panic, before witnesses, when each thought the other dead. That alone made their long, long history all that much harder to hide.

“I'm not going to be much use to this country in my state,” he said. “I'll be put out to pasture and that pretty much wipes out any obstacles between us.”

“I wouldn't say that,” she murmured. “This setback barely slowed you down. You should have seen yourself. You were still fully in command. For that matter, you still are.”

“There's never been a blind officer in our history.”

“There's never been a blind officer wielding alchemy the way you did today. And in the midst of battle. There's always an exception,” she pointed out. “You're too valuable to just toss aside. You can still make your way into the top leadership.”

He smirked, “True.”

“As you're subordinate, my part in this situation goes to court martial, then dismissal, if I don't resign first.” She heaved a sigh. “We both know all this stuff, we've discussed it for years.”

“They would have a hard time doing that considering your security classification.” He pointed out. “I'm thinking of broaching that with Grumman. You and I know how he feels regarding us. Once he's in power, he may be able to work something out. Maybe not out and out marriage, but at least we'd be able to stay together.”

“We've been an old married couple for years now, Roy Mustang.” She said sardonically.

“Very true,” he acknowledged with a grin. He sighed. “And now, quite frankly, I don't give a damn who knows any more.”

“Armstrong will be an issue,” she murmured.

“She can take a flying leap off the Briggs fortress wall for all I care,” he replied. “Your grandfather's support is all that matters.”

Silence settled over them again. Mustang pushed himself upright, twisting towards her. Riza's eyes grew wide when his hand found her shoulder then he gently brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

“My only concern, is being parted from you.” Mindful of her neck, he slid his fingers behind her head and gently kissed her forehead. He shifted, kissing her cheek. He settled for one last, butterfly soft, kiss on her lips where he lingered, only breaking the intimacy when she sighed.

“Roy...” she breathed a soft warning. She was utterly unable to hide the pang of longing.

He revelled in the sensation, an unrepentant smirk on his face, as he leaned his forehead on hers. “I'll defer to whatever you wish to do,” he whispered as his thumb caressed her cheek.

“And what if I tell you no more?” she asked.

“After fifteen years? That's not gonna happen,” he said with certainty.

Riza searched his face. For so many years they had buried their private wishes and desires in their efforts to get him to the top. All those stolen moments of intimacy from their younger years to now. All the events that had seen them both nearly killed in a matter of weeks. Then came the tragedies and triumphs of the past twenty four hours. He was so very right and they both knew it. Things had changed.

“No, it's not going to happen,” she confirmed. “I just can't think straight right now. Give me some time.”

“Shall I give you something to think about?” In whatever capacity he could, he was 'looking' right at her and she reached up, laying her hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble and she smiled in return.

He leaned in one more time, and with infinite care he caught her upper lip with his. Incredibly tender, his kiss was loaded with years of intimacy and yearning all coming together in that one brief moment. Her eyes closed and he smiled. “I can wait a little longer,” he said before he sat back to slouch in his chair.

She leaned her forehead on his shoulder, kissed his arm, and rubbed her hand along his bicep. A gesture filled with long familiarity. “Thank you,” she murmured. His only response was to reach over and squeeze the fingers that were stroking his arm. It was thanks enough. Seconds later as she felt herself drifting back to sleep, she could feel him interlacing his fingers with hers.

Settling back down, Mustang stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles and listened as her breathing evened out. He ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair sending the black fringe all awry before dropping his arm back down on the rest. Still unable to drop off to sleep, he turned his thoughts on what to do about Ishval.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N  
> Still with me? There's one more bit to go...


	4. Chapter 4

“All right, Mustang,” Tim Marcoh's gravelly rumble sounded in his ear. “I've got the circle drawn out. We can get started.”

Lying still on his bed the Colonel listened as the other alchemist worked on a long table hauled into the room for their purposes. The scratching sound of chalk indicated to him that Marcoh was working on a complex and intricate transmutation circle. He sat up, swinging his bare feet to the floor.

“Need help?” Doctor Knox's voice asked from near the window where he had been watching Marcoh work.

Roy felt a firm grip on his elbow, preparing to steer him.

“Just to the table,” Mustang said, trying to ignore the strange feeling of butterflies in his stomach. It was one thing to practise alchemy. It was another thing to have it practised on you. Voluntarily or involuntarily. Even more was that ever present doubt that this whole experiment wouldn't work, despite knowing that Havoc's spine had already been healed.

“In front of you,” Knox murmured, releasing Mustang's arm. He reached out, tentative for a moment, before his hand found the edge.

“I hope this is the last time I ever have to grope for the furniture,” he cracked, turning his back to the table then lightly hopping up to sit on it. “Unless I'm blind drunk...”

Knox barked out a laugh.

“There's just enough left in this stone to finish the job,” Marcoh said standing near the head of the table. “You know you still don't have to hang around.” His remark was aimed at the pathologist.

“I want to see with my own eyes the end of these philosopher stones,” Knox said.

“Voyeur,” Mustang shot back, feeling Marcoh's hand on his shoulder. He eased himself back onto the hard table and shifted uncomfortably, it was very solid wood.

“Says the blind man,” Knox retorted.

Mustang snorted in amusement, then started when he felt something cool and hard touch his hand.

“Here,” Marcoh curled the stone in question into the Colonel's hand. “It'll disintegrate once I activate the circle. You might as well 'see' it before it's gone.”

Roy stilled, his acutely sensitive fingertips traced over every facet of the irregularly shaped crystal. It was slender and not quite two inches in length. His face grew pensive as he lightly rubbed the stone with his thumb. All three men knew how the thing had been created. At the cost of so many innocent lives. After a moment he drew in a breath and exhaled slowly.

“To the Ishvalan people,” he murmured holding it up.

“You got that right,” Marcoh replied.

“Enough of the sentiment, get the show on the road.” Knox grumbled.

“Anyone ever tell you, you know how to ruin a moment?” Mustang cracked as Marcoh took the stone from him.

“I wasn't aware we were on a date,” Knox shot back. Mustang chuckled.

“Just try and relax, Colonel,” Marcoh said dropping a hand on his shoulder. 

“You're not the one putting your head in the noose.” Mustang replied, a smirk on his lips. He knit his fingers together over his abdomen. “For reason's better left unsaid the idea of placing myself in an active transmutation circle isn't my idea of fun.”

“What about your circles?” Knox asked.

“Apparently, certain individuals who've gone through the Gate don't need them any more. There are only four of us now who can do that.” Mustang said. “And only one went through involuntarily,” he added. Going through Pride's forced transmutation would haunt Mustang to the end of his dying days. It really was the stuff of nightmares, not to mention the pain –and the price-- that had been involved as well.

“We're not exactly opening a gate here,” Knox replied.

“You'll be fine,” Marcoh said feeling the tension in Mustang's shoulder.

“Let's get this over with then,” the Colonel said, feeling Marcoh's firm hand slip under his head. Half a second later he could feel the crystal at the back of his skull.

“Knox would you mind drawing the curtains?” Marcoh asked.

The other man grumbled something and moved towards the windows.

“I'm just slipping the stone nearest to the occipital lobe in your brain,” he said, the doctor in him taking over. “When I am ready I'm going to be setting my hand on your eyes.”

Mustang nodded, knowing Marcoh had his particular circle tattooed on the palm of his right hand.

“Between the circle on the table, on my hand, and the stone in between, your eyes will be healed.” Mustang heard him shift at the table's head. “You may want to close them.”

That was the only warning he got.

That wily old fugitive must have known something because he gave Mustang no other notice of _when_ he was going to activate the circle. One second he was listening to Knox draw the curtains on the far window the next he felt Marcoh's heavy, solid hand drop over his eyes.

Mustang could feel the energy build and crackle around his head, acutely aware of the crystal digging into the back of his skull. He grit his teeth as he felt the hair on his neck rise. His fingers clenched the sides of the table. Once Marcoh's other hand hit the transmutation circle it would 'go live'.

Marcoh's hand, palm down, thumped down next to his head.

A familiar ringing pealed through the room followed instantly by a brilliant flash. It was literally over in seconds.

The darkness that Mustang had lived in well over a week now exploded in blinding flare of light.

 

Then the pain hit.

 

Involuntarily a bellow of agony tore from Mustang's throat.

“NngghhhaaAAA!”

He came up off the table so fast Marcoh barely had time to catch his shoulders. He struggled to keep the Colonel from falling off as Mustang ground the palms of his bandaged hands into his eyes.

A second pair of hands grabbed hold of his arm, trying to steadying him.

“Nnnggh!” Mustang's fingers clenched his head, digging into his hairline, unable to keep the agony out of his voice. He shook violently.

“C'mon Roy!” Knox was saying as both doctor's struggled to keep him on the table.

“Let me see, let me see...” Marcoh was urging, trying to pry one of Mustang's hand away. He barked an order at the pathologist as Mustang bent, curling down, his palms grinding into his eyes.

“Ngghh!” Roy gasped through his clenched teeth, his body shuddering. “ _Son of a bitch!_ "

Waves of excruciating pain kept him doubled over as Marcoh steadied him. Water began streaming from his clamped shut eyes. A whine laced his voice as another primal groan tore out of him.

“Try and relax, Colonel. Tell me what's happening here.” Marcoh urged, still trying to prise away one of Mustang's hands.

“Too bright!” Roy panted, unable to keep the agony out of his voice. “It's too bright!” Shoulders scrunched tight, Mustang didn't realize he was rocking back and forth, trying to gain some control over his reactions. He barely heard Knox setting a metal bowl next to him followed by water dribbling into it.

“All right, Colonel,” Marcoh said, “Hold this and let yourself adjust. Try not to fight it.”

Mustang felt a hot, damp cloth, being held to the back of his hands. He felt Knox's grip on his shoulder while he fumbled with the cloth, holding it in place over his eyes with his palms still dug in. “Next time give a guy a little bit more warning!” He growled at Marcoh.

“After what you've been through recently, Colonel?” Marcoh shot back. “Would you have sat still for it?”

“Relax, Roy,” Knox interceded.

“Easier said than done,” Mustang snarled past the pain. He rocked forward again, “ _Dammit!_ ”

The moments stretched out longer before Mustang was able to stop rocking. Marcoh tentatively removed the cloth, “Try and sit back,” he encouraged as Mustang allowed him to pull his hands down.

Mustang kept his eyes scrunched shut, brows furrowed, and pain writ all over his face. His lips crooked in a snarl of agony mingled with self disgust. Fighting for control he was appalled at how badly he was shaking. The effort to not howl in agony again robbed him of his speech.

Knox gripped his shoulder, “That's more like it.”

Mustang snorted disdain as he grabbed the edges of the table in a vice grip, his knuckles white. Sweat trailed down his face.

“Tilt your head,” Marcoh urged. With the doctor's sure touch, Mustang let Marcoh gently prise one of his eyes open. He flinched, shrinking back as too much light continued to blind him. He ground his teeth and forced himself to try and relax. The pain was still acute.

With Marcoh's steady encouragement, he struggled to open his eyes.

A wave of sensations hit him. Pain, colours, light, shadows... and above all no pervasive all encompassing darkness. Eyes still watering, he struggled to focus. He squinted his eyes, everything was blurred and in turmoil. Yet slowly rising through it all was an exultant triumphant glee.

He could see!

A chuckle escape his lips as his vision still readjusted, his focus sharpening. Marcoh's disfigured face swam into view, and with an amused snort Mustang reached up and solidly gripped the doctor's arm before him. A slight smile of satisfaction was on the doctor's face as Roy's black eyes focused.

“Congratulation's, Colonel.” Marcoh said. “Humour me and track my finger.” He held up his index finger, shifting it one way, then the other. Roy's eyes followed it with increasing accuracy.

Ignoring the pain still searing through him Mustang couldn't keep the gleeful smirk off his face. His eyes scanned around the room taking in... _everything_.

He glanced at Knox.

“Myyyy...” the pathologist drawled, “What big eyes you have!”

“Asshole,” Mustang shot back, mirth in his voice.

Knox laughed.

Vertigo struck and Mustang swayed bracing himself quickly with a hand on the table as Marcoh stepped back. The overwhelming sensations disoriented him. His gaze flicked to his left where Knox stood. The pathologist was leaning back on the same table, legs crossed, arms folded and wearing a sardonic smirk on his face.

Roy shook his head, biting back on the urge to laugh. His fingers wiped away the tears still streaming from his eyes as he continued to adjust to the light. He abruptly stood up, swayed badly, before reaching down to grab the table's edge.

Marcoh caught his arm. “Careful there, your depth perception needs time to adjust.”

Barely perceptible, Knox nodded his head towards the door, an eyebrow flicking up with a challenge. The smirk on his face never left.

Mustang pushed away from the table, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, staggered, then reached up and clapped the pathologist on his shoulder as he passed. He aimed straight for the door.

Knox caught the confused look on Marcoh's face and smiled like a Cheshire cat.

 

* * *

 

In the lobby, just outside of the Colonel's room, most of the members of Mustang's unit, plus a few others, had gathered. They had congregated there after being banished by the two doctor's.

Heymans Breda sat on one of the couches, engaged in a lively conversation with a visiting Vato Falman. Currently off duty from his Briggs forces assignment and, of the six people there, only he was in uniform.

Occupying the other couch was Maria Ross. This gave her a clear view down the hallway as she was one of those unofficially posted to guard Mustang and Hawkeye's room. Kain Feury, having just finished that duty, was the only member missing. Sitting on the armrest next to Ross was Rebecca Catalina also engaged in conversation with Jean Havoc.

Dressed in the hospital issued garb, he was ensconced in a wheelchair, his legs still not strong enough to support him. He had, however, the promise of a full recovery in the very near future. He sat there, smoking his ever present cigarette, and stared in fascination as he actively bounced his leg nervously. He revelled at the sensations coming from his bare feet as he scrunched his toes on the foot pads of the chair. There was no hiding the smile of wonder on his face.

Apart from them all was Riza Hawkeye. Sporting her own pyjamas now, she had wrapped her favourite pink sweater around her shoulders and was gazing out the window of the hospital. With her hair loose, arms crossed, she had one hand to her throat, idly stroking at the infuriating bandages still wrapped around her neck. Her other hand was in the crook of her arm.

The ebb and flow of happy, burbling, sometimes ribald, conversation subsided to a low murmur as she focused her hearing on the door to their room. There was no hiding the concern etched on her face. The two doctor's had ushered everyone out as they prepared to restore Mustang's eyes. On the brink of objecting at her dismissal, Mustang reassured her it would be fine and to go enjoy everyone's company.

Rebecca glanced at her. Riza the patient was a decided contrast to Riza the professional soldier. Still stoic to a fault, Rebecca pondered, though the last few days had seen a breaking in the solid equilibrium that made up her friend's demeanour. Riza had said nothing to her about what had transpired in the underground lairs around Central Command. However, Catalina couldn't miss that it had been traumatically horrifying.

The unmistakable ringing sound of an active transmutation circle followed by a brief flash of electric blue light caught everyone's attention. The resulting howl of agony froze everyone in place.

“NngghhhaaAAA!”

All eyes fixed on the door in shock.

Only one person audibly gasped at the sound. Riza's hand slipped from her throat to her mouth, her eyes wide, face draining of colour. She had heard that primal roar of agony twice before, when it had all started... It took every ounce of her energy to keep from crying out herself. She barely stopped herself from moving as she turned towards the door.

“Son of a bitch!” Breda muttered, scrambling to his feet, turning.

“That didn't sound good...” Havoc remarked. That earned him a scuff across the back of his tousled blonde head from Catalina. He looked at her reproachfully, about to say something, when she nodded her head back towards Hawkeye.

Anxiety fell on them all as they listened to the muffled sounds of what was occurring behind the door.

Minutes passed, before the door suddenly jerked open. Mustang's hand slapped on the door jamb, steadying himself as he partially stumbled into the hall way. The brighter lights in the lobby causing him to duck his head, slamming his eyes shut. Audible pain escaped from his clenched teeth. He shook his head, fighting to open his eyes and dashed with the palm of his other hand the water that streamed from them. Blinking furiously a moment, he drew breath, regaining the upper hand before turning his attention to the crowd.

Everyone able to stand was on their feet, staring at their dishevelled Colonel in shock and concern.

Mustang pushed away from the door, his gait steadier as he advanced down the corridor towards them. Those sharp black eyes, with their familiar glare, and fire for life, scanned everyone in turn before settling on one person.

Riza, frozen in place, hand still covering her mouth, was staring at him as he approached. His eyes, his eyes! There were hints of pain on his features and he struggled to keep from squinting. Yet he was looking directly at her. She felt the sting of tears in her own as he walked straight up to her and her head dropped as she fiercely clamped down on her traitorous emotions.

He stopped when they were inches apart, before reaching out and settling his hands on her shoulders. He watched as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, determined to keep her composure. Reaching up he gently pulled her hand away. With a crooked finger he set it under her chin, lifting it as his thumb drifting down her jaw. His eyes scanned her face, studying every square inch before brushing her bangs away with his fingertips. He smiled, slipping both hands on either side of her head, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes just drinking her in.

 

Then he went for the kill.

 

Riza's eyes flew open wide in astonishment as his lips locked on hers. His arms slipped down her back, then to her waist as he pulled her closer to him. When he lifted her off her feet her hands wrapped quickly around his shoulders to catch herself. Her eyes closed, his embraces turned decidedly more passionate, and she lost herself in the surge of warmth that literally weakened her knees.

Setting her back down he broke their kiss as she gulped for breath, staring at him in bewilderment, searching his black eyes. The smile tugging at the corners of his lips was reserved exclusively for her. His deeply seductive chuckle rumbled in her ear sending a shiver clear to her toes before he caught her mouth with his again.

From behind them, shrill --stadium rattling-- whistles erupted from Havoc and Breda.

Above the din Rebecca Catalina protested, “No way!”

“I _f'king_ knew it!” Havoc crowed exultantly. He was drowned out in raucous cheers and applause from the others.

Glancing over at Havoc with wickedly triumphant joy on his face, Mustang released Riza long enough to reach down and clasp Havoc's forearm, who returned the same. Riza turned her head, trying to keep the sudden blush hidden as long as possible. Kissing her once more he broke their embrace, his arms tightening around Riza as he began to chuckle. Holding onto his shoulders she pulled back, looking at him, his smirk firmly in place and an exultant gleam in his eyes. He bent forward, his mouth close to her ear. “I have waited too damn long to do that!”

If there was ever a moment for her resolve to break it was then. She laid a hand on his cheek, staring at him, and she began to smile.

A giggle escaped.

Softly it gurgled forth, barely discernible from the congratulations raining about, but gathering momentum, like ripples in a pond. Unexpected, it stilled everyone in the lobby as it began gently pealing into the room.

Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye began to laugh.

Her laughter soon mingled with the Colonel's chuckle. With an unusual burst of exuberance, Mustang plucked her off her feet and spun, embracing her once more.

* * *

 

In the hallway, Tim Marcoh just stood and stared before turning to a gloating Knox who began leading them away.

“Don't ask... today they're just patients,” he said. “And no offence Doc, but your face was the last thing he wanted to see first. Besides, as civilians it's none of our business. And after everything that's happened lately? Something was bound to change!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N
> 
> Well, there you have it. Any mistakes are mine as I am doing my own beta work. That said, after the fifteenth rewrite on this ending bit I figured I had better post it before I destroy it. Plus there are two other stories , a 'Royai Beginnings' one, and a story later in the future where Scar stumbles across a lost remnant of Xerxians. Shenanigans ensue... for both ideas... then there is the "what did Roy actually do" when he tested for the State Alchemist Exams? Or an alternate way that Roy goes about removing portions of Riza's tattoo...
> 
> Also Dr. Knox is a snarking Master.
> 
> What have I got myself into with this fandom?


End file.
